Safe
by TheDuchessofFiction
Summary: Written pre-3x11- Emma, Hook, and Henry take a bit of a roadtrip after Storybrooke to a city they all had some... interesting memories of.


**This was written before I saw 3x11, a bit ago, as part of CSSS for montanarosalie. Now, with the spoilers about a road trip, my hope has been renewed. Enjoy. -K**

Emma didn't want to say that she hated New York. But, she'd be lying if she ever wanted to go back there.

The lights of the city shone through the windows of the old yellow bug, illuminating the small boy dozing in the back seat, and the face of the pirate sitting beside her.

Hook's wide blue eyes focused on the cityscape outside of the window, the twinkling light shining off of his face. His mouth was slightly a gape as he stared, even though it was his second time seeing the city. The first time, however, she highly doubted he had seen it all lit up.

A flurry of snow swirled around, the flakes falling onto the street and her car, contrasting sharply with the yellow as she exited the interstate, coming out of one of the many underground tunnels that connect the dreary land of New Jersey, to the metropolis, and turned onto the slightly slippery, normally packed streets.

Even in the city that never sleep, there were still some taxis speeding between parked cars, in the chic, cobblestone Soho neighborhood. Grungy lofts lined the streets, rubbing elbows with dark and locked designer stores that normally reeked of vapid wealth, which in turn cuddled up against hipster-esque art galleries displaying ridiculously over-priced blobs of paint..

Wearily, Emma slowed to a stop in front of one of the many boutique hotels that nestled themselves in the neighborhood and pulled the bug to a stop with a lurch, pulling the pirate in the passenger seat out of his awed gazing at the grungy area.

Glancing back at Henry, she wordlessly opened the car door, and motioned for Hook to step out of the car as well. Awkwardly he stepped out of the car, his leather boots slipping on the slick street. In an effort to right himself, and maintain his cocky persona, he leaded over the top of the car, his eyes boring into her, one eyebrow raised in the open ended question of "yes, love?"

Emma tried to glare at him, but as usual failed, the end of her mouth turning up in a half smile.

"Stay here with the car, while I go get a room." She said, stomping around the hood of the car and towards the door before stopping to look back at him, slightly regretting her harshness in tone.

"As you wish." He repeated with a small bow, memories of Neverland being dredged to the surface once more. Emma turned quickly away, letting her blonde curls fan out behind her.

Yet, she couldn't really hide the grin that touched her lips, now almost an instant reaction to whenever that damn man opened his mouth.

The first thing the Sheriff saw walking into the lobby was red. And green.

Shit.

From their time in Neverland she had been a little 'off' on her dates, neglecting looking at her calendar during the short time they had been back in Storybrooke.

Yet, when the clerk at the desk had chirped "Merry Christmas" at her, she was forced to look at the date.

December 13 was wayyyy too early to be saying that wasn't it. She had murmured the greeting in return and walked back out into the cold snow.

Hook still leaned against the car, looking through the window at the now-sleeping boy with a look of puzzlement.

Emma jingled the keys standing in front of him.

"Hook? Come on, let's go." She said, motioning him forward. He cast a look at Henry. Instead of waiting for her to wake him up, however, the pirate quickly opened the car door with one hand and slowly slipped the prosthetic one under his small body while the other one wrapped around his knees.

He lifted Henry out of the car, closing the door with one booted foot, and then looked at her, with her son cradled him his arms.

Her mouth instantly went dry, seeing him like that. Blue eyes twinkling with hope and his face completely open and honest, he looked so young. And so lost.

Still, he was staring at her like a beacon as she led him through the door and past the front desk, where the elderly clerk who had helped her before smiled at them with an "awwwwing" expression that made Emma want to scowl at the lady.

Instead, she stabbed the elevator button with one finger and tapped her foot impatiently until the car came.

Much to her disappointment, Hook didn't ask about the elevator or find it confusing, instead just following her lead, while she refused to look at him, knowing if she did, the words that been hiding behind her lips just might fall.

After shoving the keycard into the slot and opening the door, she let Hook lay Henry on the bed before she started fussing with her sleeping child.

He was exhausted. After Pan's capture, pulling out his own heart, switching bodies with Pan, being locked in freaking _Pandora's Box, _and getting the whole thing undone, he had fallen asleep the moment the two adults had ushered him into the car and driven away, fleeing another curse.

Sitting in the car on the other side of the barrier, they had watched, thankfully with Henry still asleep, as the citizens of Storybrooke vanished, hopefully still with their memories, yet the town remained.

It had been a split second decision really, letting _Killian _come, as she had started to refer to him in her head, as she pulled of Henry's shoes, at the same time shooing Hook out the door, hissing something about their bags down in the car below, tossing him the keys at the same time.

Emma was very sure that taking him was the right one.

After all, he had been the one to figure out that it wasn't _Henry _in Henry in the first place. Though he hadn't been the person to switch them, that job had fallen to Henry's other mother, he had taken great enjoyment in tying up Felix and throwing him off of his beloved ship as punishment for his part in Pan's plan.

He was still the "scary pirate" yet, it had become abundantly clear through their journey that he hadn't always just been a pirate.

Since they had first met, he had said he could read her like an open book. Rather, he was just looking in a mirror seeing himself in her, another orphan.

The current man who her thoughts inevitably wandered to swore as he pressed his back against the door, trying to get the blasted door open.

Emma rolled her eyes and stomped to the door, casting a look at Henry to check if he was still asleep.

"Shhhh!" She glared at the pirate his mouth closing in mid-swear. Their bags lay on the floor haphazardly, hers and Henry's leaning against each other, while Hook's travel bag, an odd combination of black leather and bronze buckles was slung around his arm.

Emma grabbed at the leather lapels of his coat pulling him towards her, so that his face was inches away from her.

Shit. She hadn't meant to do that.

Releasing him and pushing him back with one hand, she retreated back into the room, shrugging off the red wool coat and tossing it on the opposite bed, as if already claiming it, without a second thought.

"And where do you expect me to sleep, love?" Hook asked, dragging the bags into the room and for once, gently shutting the door.

Emma whirled on him, once again hitting the (dangerously) leather encased chest.

Again, as it always seemed to do when he looked at her like that. 

That referred to the piercing eyes, it's normal brilliant blue turning to a depth that when the light came through them hinted at a shine.

That referred to the hint of an turn in his crooked smile that she should have once found villainous, but now only found the burning desire to kiss off.

That referred to the infuriating raising of one black, expressive eyebrow, in an wordless language that she only seemed to understand.

That referred to the automatic leaning, him to her, her to him, that happened whenever they were near, as if they were the North and South of a magnet.

Emma opened and closed her mouth, silently screaming at herself as she walked backward, still steadfastly holding onto the pirate's black leather jacket, before the backs of knees hit the back of the bed.

Looking back up at him, his blue eyes had lost their wonder and going wide with confusion. Carefully, she delicately moved her hands under the warm leather, and tugged. He gave her an unsure grin, really more a quick flash of white teeth as he tentatively slide both of his arms out of their leather prisons.

The coat hits the floor with a soft thud and again, she lets herself get lost in the sea of his blue eyes. Despite her jack rabbiting heart, she didn't move her hands instead drawing Hook into her closers, lightly gliding her fingers over his back, over the tight, lean muscles, while at the same time, finding points where the flesh was hidden by metal and straps.

"Mom?" A sleepy voice called, startling the blonde and instantly pulling her away from the pirate, pushing him towards the bed so quickly that he crashed into Henry's bed, falling so that he was 'casually' sitting on the end. "Where are we?"

The boy sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking around, as his mother took the three steps that it took to go from one bed to the other.

"Hey." She said quietly, sitting down next to him and running one hand through his mushed brown hair. "How are you feeling?"

Henry, however, batted away her hand stubbornly.

"I'm fine, Mom." He whined, finally making eye contact with the pirate looking at him with those curious blue eyes, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Emma's son didn't know much about having a father. Granted, he had only met the man a couple of times, talked to him but a handful times, and, secretly, he was sure he liked the _idea _of a father more than Neal, after David had whispered in his ear what Rumplestilskin's son had done to his mother, he didn't really like the man.

Yet, currently, the Captain was acting like a father. Henry was positive that Emma didn't have the strength to carry him inside of what he assumed he assumed was a hotel.

And he was a convincing actor. The memory of his face nestled in black leather swam to mind, accompanied by a rocking feeling.

"So what's the plan?" He asked, sitting up in bed, tossing the covers, and positioning himself between the pirate and the sheriff.

"Operation Save Storybrooke?" His mother said with a grin, putting one arm around him and drawing him back into her chest.

"Mooommmm…" He groaned. "That's so obvious."

Hook smirked at her, raising one eyebrow "For the daughter of Prince Charming, you lack his military prowess. That is if your father wasn't just greatly exaggerating his skills." She glared at him, partly in defense of David, and partly because _Henry _of all people was nodding agreement. "If it's a quest name, then it has to not relate to what we're actually doing or else everyone will know."

That cocky ass. He just smiled over her at Henry with his stupid 'bromance' look that he had used on David all through Neverland. And _her son_, the dirty traitor, was nodding vigourously at him, like he had never heard something so right.

"And we can't use Cobra either." Henry said, looking over to Hook with questioning eyes, looking for the Captain to give him ideas.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Emma said, rather uncomfortably planting a kiss on the top of his head, and taking a whiff of his hair. "And you… need to shower." The mother got up and headed towards the suitcases tossed haphazardly in the corner and unzipped it.

The first thing that fell out of the case was Henry's leather bound book of fairytales, which she tossed onto the bed and into her son's waiting arms. Eventually, however, she did find his pajamas and bag of toiletries, though hers didn't seem to be in this bag. Silently, she prayed that she had remembered to pack them, still desperately wanting to wash off Neverland.

Turning back around, she hadn't noticed her son's inane chatter directed at the pirate.

"And this is my other mom's story. I mean it sort of gets filled in, but _I'm _the only one who knows the endings to all of them." He said, stabbing at a picture with one hand and curling up further into the pirate simultaneously.

Emma hid her smile. And a couple of choice words that included the words "you" and "I."

He had told her small tidbits of how he had wanted to raise Neal. And to be truthful, he was naturally fatherly. Yet, he still looked at her with uncertain blue eyes as Henry read. Still he asked Henry questions, much to his delight, and Emma just stood there, still holding the kit and soft blue pajamas, leaning against the dresser.

When Henry sort of reached a stopping point, meaning he had moved on to Mary-Margaret and David's story. _Hers. _

"Alright Henry, you can tell the pirate stories _later." _She said, ushering her son into the bathroom despite his protests and tossing his toiletries inside shutting the door behind her and turning to the man on the bed.

**I have been absolutely overwhelmed at the reaction to this, and feel so humbled to be your secret santa, because I worship your writing. This is my first published CS ff and having SIX of my favorite writers, means the world to me. Not including you though. Hope you like the gift for the second day of Christmas. Look for tomorrow's ridiculously fluffy story.**

**-K**

**Part II**

Hook had stripped off his vest was well, and was bent over in the motion of picking up his coat and shoving it into his bag. Then, he started to unbutton his shirt, his back facing her.

"Hook." She said, the alarm coursing through her veins. He stops moving and the muscles on his back tense, waiting on her. She sighs and casts a look at the other bed, where her coat lay forgotten. "If you're going to sleep with me, you better clean up too."

He's frozen in stunned silence, once again she had surprised him. Emma allows herself a small victory smile before he turned around to nervously question what he had just heard, the black linen shirt hanging open halfway to expose a surprisingly white chest, marred (though it really was enhanced in Emma's opinion) by a couple of raven curls.

"You smell, pirate." She laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out some of David's things she had for the stupidest reason decided to pack.

Though she wouldn't be lying if she hadn't thought about the Captain in some modern clothes.

Henry trudged out of the bathroom several seconds later, his hair sticking up every which way and complaints still falling from his lips. However, the other man in the room gave her a similarly disgruntled look as she shooed the younger to the bed and the older into the bathroom.

However, it only took a second for the loud, accented Emma! To echo from the bathroom, drawing the mother away from the furious tugging at her son's hair.

"What Hook?!" Emma threw open the door, completely ready to slap a hand over her eyes. However, the man was still dressed, instead he was still dressed, albeit standing the shower, peering at up the faucet. "Oh god."

The sheriff leaned over the side of the porcelain tub, and moved the man out of the way with one hand, while the other quickly turned the knob. Water spewed out of the head like rain as she crossed her arms over her chest, pleased with her work.

Killian stared confused at the stream for several seconds, then shook his head, writing it off as some of this land's magic, a phrase that he muttered at least once every five minutes.

She was going to ground Henry when they got back to Storybrooke.

In the time when Emma had run to the bathroom and fled it, the boy had opened up a hidden cache of movies from his bag and had popped one into the DVD player.

To be more specific for her reasoning, it was _Peter Pan. _

Needless to say, the mother was half way glad her son had rebounded so quickly from his kidnapping, though she was already frowning at the screen knowing good and well that permed curls and waxed mustaches would eventually made an appearance.

She watched it anyway.

And she felt sad seeing this version. Sure, it was whimsical and had once upon a time given her a misplaced crush in a boy who never wanted to grow up. Yet, it was wrong.

So wrong, because it never showed the real Lost Boys, who had been taken home by her mother.

So wrong, because it placed the evil gleam in the bright blue eyes of the pirate, instead of Pan.

So wrong, because Captain Hook wasn't a codfish.

Killian Jones was anything but a coward.

The moment he emerged in a cloud of steam from the bathroom, befuddlement still framing his face, she snatched the remote from Henry and slammed the 'off' button, guilty getting trapped in her throat. She gives her son a look, with one raised eyebrow and a thin line for her mouth.

He just responds with a demand to the pirate, for a story.

Hook's eyes go wide as he shift uncomfortably in the unfamiliar clothes David had loaned. A pair of something called 'sweat pants' which were quite soft and t-shirt that was at least as tight if not more so than what he normally wore.

As Emma passed him, purposefully walking to the bathroom, as he tentatively sat at the edge of her son's bed, he raised an eyebrow at her appreciative, lingering glance down his body.

"Captain?" The lad asked, snuggling back into a nest of pillows, his dark wet hair sticking to the clean whiteness, as Killian tore his gaze away from the blonde slamming the door to the bathroom. "How did you become a pirate?"

Emma tried to blast the water, letting her blonde hair turn to a limp curls, trying to filter out the story. Yet, it didn't work.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who let one son run away and left another on a ship." He had begun, his voice thick. Of course, it should have been.

It was his story after all.

Yet, what Emma found stunning was the turn of the page.

He was in the book.

She shouldn't be surprised. Though, she had thought that only the cursed people of Storybrooke were in the book, to help them to remember.

But with every story being so _wrong, _Killian deserved to be something other than Hook.

"The younger one was thrown off the boat, as the son of fugitive and was left to the docks."

As much as Pan had taunted her with the words "Lost Girl," Killian was more a lost boy than her. He had been lost many times, so alone with himself, and after 300 years, he had been so _desperate _for a home.

So desperate that he had sacrificed everything for her.

"When the older one found his brother, an urchin thief of the sea, he was shocked and ashamed. He took the boy into the Navy, raising him with the hard rules that came from military life. Admittedly, the younger was a hard-worker, but only from his fear of being tossed out again."

Emma ripped the brush through her hair. _Hook. Hook. Hook. Killian. Hook. _Dammit! She couldn't reprogram her mind now, and soon her mouth would be doing the exact same thing.

She laughed inside of her head thinking of the black leather clad pirate in Navy blues, like the kind the Commodore had worn in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

"One day, the King called the elder, now a Captain, to his throne and gave him a task. He was to find a plant, located in another land."

Neverland. David had told her that Hook's brother had died, of dreamshade, when they were there. She hadn't fully understood it, knowing how he had gone back to the cursed land.

"They sailed—really flew to Neverland, to find a land with no kings."

"How did you fly? With Pixie dust?" Henry asked, his voice thick with sleep, making him sound much younger.

"A sail of feathers. From a horse." Killian answered with a small smile that she envisioned in her head as she yanked the toothbrush back and forth.

"Pegasus?" Henry exclaimed. And the pirate—sailor, really, laughed. It was rich, like hearing honey run over a silver spoon, and caught the gold twinkle in his cerulean eyes.

"Yes, lad." After a moment of silence, Hook turned the page. "The brothers didn't have to search the Island, instead with the help of a boy, who warned them of the plants dangers, still directed them to one of the groves, high up on a cliff."

"The younger brother, his brother's faithful Lieutenant, looked at the plant, liquid dripping from thorns, and knew that it wasn't the benevolent vine the King had wanted. He argued with the elder, that it was the wrong one, yet he didn't listen. The older, ruled by his orders—and blinded by them, indulged the plant in his skin."

A soft snore filled the room, Henry's, yet Hook kept going, his voice thick and soft with grief. The door creaked as she opened it and tip toed into the room.

Clear tears caught the lamplight, framed the Hellenic nose and entrapping the raven hair. The Irish(well that's she assumed the Land without Magic equivalent was of his tones) accent came out more of a brogue between sniffles, making him look more like the urchin on the street that the story had told of.

"And the older, prouder, loyaler brother fell, the purple poison rushed to his heart. Then, the strange boy from before appeared, a wicked gleam in his eye as he told the distraught Lieutenant holding his brother's dying body, that the water from the spring could save him."

The illustration next to the calligraphy was stunning even on the yellowing pages, the details faded into their glory. A young man with a blue ribbon tied ponytail looked desperately at the demon-boy himself, as a corpse to be lay in his arms.

"And it did." Those were the only words on one page, before the story continued on the next. "Yet, as the younger brother would learn later in life, magic came at a price. After the brothers left the Island, the magic disappeared."

One tear hit the page. Then a few more, smearing the ink of the story, staining the drawing that accompanied it, of the man who was reading crying just as heartbroken as the one depicted. He moved to shut the book with one hand, but found it ineffective, staring at the empty space otherwise occupied by a prosthetic with such utter contempt.

Running his hand through his hair, he let his elbows rest on the book and the tears drip at a irregular pace.

He didn't ever finish the rest of the pages of his story. Who would want to read every detail of their past, like it was only a story when really each pretty carefully inked word was another stab in an already wounded heart.

Gently, she placed one hand on his shoulder, not even realizing that she had come to stand beside him. He flinches, his hands moving further through his hair so it met the nape and he bent over further. Even more hesitantly, Emma wrapped her arm around his other shoulder, drawing the man closer to her than she would normally let anyone.

Hook resisted her. Stiff muscles, a twisted up expression that held back tears, he was trying to throw some sandbags in place of a wall that had crumbled when he thought no one was around to see.

She knew it so well, that if Emma closed her eyes, she could be hugging herself on any night in an empty Boston apartment.

Eventually, she pries the book out of his hands, shutting it without another glance at the destructive art.

Eventually, she transferred them to the other bed, the man holding onto her tighter than ever as she reached to turn of the light.

Eventually, he let his tears fall, wetting the breast of her tank top she hadn't thought to change out of.

Her fingers brush lightly up and down the grey Henley that still smelled of her father fingering the metal and leather brace that he still wore with a frown. They didn't speak, but each time he shifted, when he had finally emptied out the tears for dredged up memories.

It was uncomfortable, though he had never shown it. Not through the Enchanted Forest, Storybrooke, Neverland… God they'd been to every place that had a penned line.

Not speaking had it's advantages. As did the darkness.

Emma didn't have to look at his expression as she snaked her arms under the shirt and pulled it off, exposing an expanse of white lean muscle… and a contraption, machine taking up one whole arm.

The hook wasn't just held up by a simple strap at the bicep as she had though before their kiss. Yet, after she had only felt how complex it really was.

Straps criss crossed his back some buckling far closer to his opposite hip, while beaten metal and gears comprised the whole arm.

She met his eyes, brimming with fear, with only befuddlement, not knowing where to start. With a slowness that could stop just as soon as it began, he moved his lone hand to grasp hers and lead it to the bronze buckle situated furthest from the brace, on his hip.

Not hesitating, she unclasps it and starts to unwind the leather, moving up his back, fiddling with the similar buckles as she went. Soon all the leather was hanging of the edge of the bed as one large strip as he sat in front of her, as Emma stood on her knees, behind him, rotating one of the gears on the shoulder.

The metal groaned in protest as the first layer of armor fell away, as she abruptly got up, moving so that she was kneeling before him, clasping his arm in both of her hands, bent in concentration.

They weren't speaking as Emma turned the second gear at the elbow, yet Killian wanted to grab the girl, no, woman, no, it still didn't really describe Emma Swan.

Angel was what she was. With wings like the bird for which she was named that only he could see.

She didn't show the slightest sign of revolt as she turned the last gear at his wrist and eased the metal off of him, taking a sharp intake of breath at the weight as she shoved in on the table unceremoniously, before turning back to him, still on her knees and running her lithe fingers down his arm to close around the bloody awful stump.

The skin was pure white, a color that blended with the white of the sheets as her fingers reached the end of the line, where the appendage had been crudely severed about two inches above the wrist. It had capped over, she should have expected that after 300 years, the end still with a jagged black scar from when he had first sew it up.

His arm was scattered with scars, standing out against the skin that hadn't seen the light of day for three centuries and some change. Each time her fingertips connected with one, he flinched and glanced at her, as if waiting for her to sneer, to push back.

She didn't meet his eyes until her hand firmly closed around the stump and she gave him a sunny smile that didn't feel forced at all.

His mouth was agape and his eyes were even larger in the dark, as blue beacons in the darkness.

"Does it still hurt?" She asked, awkwardly lying next to him on the bed, her body once again betraying her by inching closer to the sweat-pants clad pirate. If anyone asked, it was for warmth.

"It's a phantom. Sometimes the hook feels like a hand and others…" He breaths, unconsciously using the stump to motion, as if ripping something off and tossing it away.

She gives in finally, rolling over away from looking over the edge of the bed at Henry to face him, their face mere centimeters away from each other on a white landscape of down.

Hook always looks surprised. Most of the time, she wants to laugh at his expression, partly because his entire face just opens up and every single emotion the closed off man has is just played out, like a projector being splayed onto a canvas. Others, she is eager to see it again, to see how far she can go before he finally says something about it, makes a saucy comment or an inappropriate joke.

Killian rarely does that anymore. It's all 'as you wish.'

Emma wondered if when she had wished not to spend her birthday alone, she had wished for him this. Or if she had cursed herself by watching the Princess Bride a million times with Mary-Margaret. Or drunkenly one night saying that she wished she had a Wesley.

"Are you alright Emma?" He finally asks, after working up the courage to, after a night of the question floated around his attic. "You've been acting a little off all night and…."

She cuts him off, by wrapping her arms around his body and yanking him closer to her, before resting her head on his chest. Before speaking she takes a sniff, of spices, and her father's cologne, and just a hint of salt.

"I love you." She says, not allowing the words to catch in her throat any longer. Yet, she doesn't wait to see Killian's reaction. Closing her eyes and snuggling into his chest, she uses him as a teddy bear.

His body goes hard like a plank and his breathing becomes labored, as if he was waking up from a nightmare. Gently, he moves his hand to her hair, moving the couple of strands of blonde hair away from her face, so that her profile was illuminated fully by the sliver of moon coming through the curtains.

"What did you say?" He asked, and she inclines her head upwards to look into his eyes. They were so scared of it all, and in all of his years, he had never had this cruel of a dream.

Yet, it wasn't.

"I love you." She repeated, not wanted to discuss the issue any longer—it was a plain and simple fact. She grabbed the stump and pulled it across her body like a blanket and turned her head so that it was comfortable. "Now go to sleep." She mumbled the last words, not sure if he had heard them or not, yet Emma allowed herself to fall asleep anyways, feeling safe in someone's arms for the first time in what seemed like forever.

**Review? -K**


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